Ashes to Ashes (BDTW #3)

Chapter 20

Even once I regained my strength, and the only thing left within me was the subsiding pain, I still wouldn't leave my bed.

I barely ate. I barely spoke. I barely did anything but sleep. And I knew that I was being useless and just burdensome to those around me who had much, much more important things to do than to take care of me, yet they were still there waiting on my every move. Jackson was basically glued to the small, cushiony recliner he'd brought up to my room, and when he wasn't involved with Dauntless leader meetings, he was there, either trying and failing to start a conversation with me, or just watching me sleep, or stare up at the ceiling. Sometimes he would just talk, just fill the empty air with his words, and sometimes I listened. He talked about his childhood, his time in school, his initiation with my brother and the wild days they spent together. It was amusing from time to time.

It was the day before the coup on Erudite when Jackson said, "We're heading in tomorrow. You were assigned to a task force, but you're not obligated to go. It's open if you want to, and I'm not going to hold you back, but that's because you haven't spoken to me in a day, so I'm highly doubtful you'll be joining us."

For a moment, I debated it. What would I do if I were to go back there? Puke my guts out, certainly, because there were some severe PTSD issues associated with those halls, but if I were with a band of loyal Dauntless and possibly my brother, Jackson or Tris or any of my friends, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Then I got a burning thought. Eric.

I needed to get my revenge. I needed to rip him to pieces.

For the first time in two days, I stretched out my legs, pointing my toes and feeling that sweet tug in my calves as the muscles extended, then pushed myself up, touching a hand to my forehead from the dizziness that washed over me.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jackson said, concern colouring his voice, and he bounced out of the recliner and was by my side, touching my arm gently. "I should not have said anything."

"No, I need to get out of here," I muttered, and pushed the covers off of me, then softly planted my feet onto the ground, testing my weight on them before completely pushing myself off. Jackson had carried me to and from the bathroom whenever I needed to go, so it'd been a while since I was on my feet, and it felt unfamiliar. I leaned on Jackson the first few steps then quickly got my bearings.

"How about we start with baby steps, Cath," and he sounded frustrated, but hey, he brought this upon himself.

"I'm fine, Jackson," I said, and he let me go, always listening to me, always making sure my decision and choices were respected, yet lurking behind me in case anything went south. A few tentative steps forward, and images of blood and Marcus's belt and days spent in my tiny closet that was only a few feet's distance from me flooded my mind, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to push the thoughts away. My hand flew out and wrapped itself around the doorknob, and I twisted it, opening with a creak.

There were many different voices dispersed across the household, and I wondered how many people my mother could possibly manage to squeeze into here. The place was filled with rich golden sunlight from the afternoon glow filtering in through the windows, and from the top of the staircase, I could see some strangers littered around the living room, all compacted onto two couches, on the arms, on the floor, squeezed between the cushions, all holding either a can and a spoon or some cards. Laughter streamed effortlessly through the air, and a part of me wondered who even knew how to laugh anymore after everything we'd seen and done, but then I remembered that they hadn't seen or done half of the things I have. Quietly, I began treading down the stairs, trying to scan the crowd for familiar faces.